


Fresh Out of Mercy

by Wolfscub



Category: American Actor RPF, Lee Pace Fandom
Genre: A Few Feels, A Wee Bit of Masturbation, D/s, Dom!Lee, Dominant Lee, Erotica, F/M, Fluff, Height Kink, PWP, Sex, Spanking, a bit of angst, smutty smut smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-04
Updated: 2015-02-04
Packaged: 2018-03-10 12:06:09
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,664
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3289745
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Wolfscub/pseuds/Wolfscub
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Lee comes home after working away for a while and hurts OFC's feelings by not . . . seeing to her quickly enough for her tastes.</p><p>She takes matters into her own hands . . . </p><p>Sexiness ensues.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Fresh Out of Mercy

**Author's Note:**

> NSFW
> 
> Mature Audiences ONLY!!!
> 
> My first Lee Pace (alone) fic.
> 
> Dom!Lee, D/s, Spanking, Erotica, Fluff, Smutty Smut Smut, Sex, Height Kink, PWP, A bit of angst, A Few Feels, A Wee Bit of Masturbation

"What the fuck do you think you're doing?"

My hands - which had been holding myself open between my widely spread legs, one finger furiously flicking my clit - moved slowly, guiltily away - dammit - when I was literally about ten seconds from cumming, my legs naturally closing at his censorious look.

The big man's timing left a _lot_ to be desired . . . 

He stood there at the end of the bed, hands on hips that were encased in old worn jeans - the rest of him in a loose, comfortable t-shirt, and I knew that that was the outfit he'd just gone for his morning constitutional in - looking just about as angry as I'd ever seen him. Lee wasn't a hotheaded type of guy - in fact, the time it usually took for him to become angry was positively glacial, which was probably a good thing considering the differences in our sizes - he was ginormous, but almost unfailingly very kind and affable and overall quiet, very aware of his own size and strength and almost annoyingly gentle because of it.

It took me months to convince him that he didn't have to hold back - that he could fuck me as hard as he wanted to and I wouldn't break in half or even bruise.

Well . . . I did bruise a bit - at which he was rendered horrified and I was rendered even hornier . . .

Then it took him another good month to get over both aspects of that revelation . . . 

Regardless, I'd never felt in the least afraid of him - just the opposite. It was as if he had vowed to only used his size for good, to make me feel very protected and cosseted, but, although I certainly lapped up every bit of being treated like that that he was willing to do, it was the strength and power of his sheer size that got me off and he knew it, but he used it judiciously.

Sparingly.

Like a superpower.

But the man who stood there glaring down at me, whose stormy gray eyes had darkened so alarmingly that I was doing my best to avoid them, was someone I hadn't encountered before. 

He was pissed.

I reached for the nightgown I'd torn off before I . . . began . . . but as my hand found it, his ripped it away from me, taking a step around the bed towards me at the same time.

Of course, his were at least three of anyone else's strides, and that had me practically shooting off the bed, heading for the door, stopping only long enough to try to grab my robe from where it hung off the hook on the back of our bedroom door, surprised to find that I was truly quite desperate to get myself covered. 

How was it that I suddenly didn't _like_ feeling that terribly vulnerable in front of him when I knew, bone deep, that he would never, ever hurt me - and what's more, that exact feeling usually had me very close to cumming?

Probably because he was already bearing down on me, snatching the robe out of my hand and tossing it onto the floor, his eyes never leaving me as those big fingers wrapped around my wrist, holding it securely but not hurting me in the least, no matter how I tried to struggle free, tugging me carefully away from the door, which I had almost made it out of, away from the relative freedom and safety of the hallway, and instead, back to the unyielding wall of flesh that was him.

"Let me go!"

I'd never seen that feral grin before, and I really didn't want to see it now! A shiver actually ran through me as he completely ignored both my command as well as the way I was trying to escape, or at the very least trying desperately not to let him consolidate his hold on me.

Like _that_ was going to work.

The man could toss me around like a ragdoll if that was his bent.

It hadn't been in the past, but now . . . I wasn't at all sure . . . 

And I was even less so when the wind was suddenly knocked out of me as he used his grip on me to snap me around, lifting and slamming me suddenly up against the very door I'd been trying to get out of.

"You _know_ that touching yourself without my _express_ permission is against your rules."

He was using his own body to keep me in place at least a foot or more off the floor, leaving his hands free to restrain and molest me, my arms stretched so far above my head that it seemed to force my entire body into a permanent arch, plastering my front to his - forced to silently offer myself to him in a way I couldn't seem to prevent, and everything I tried only seemed to make the situation worse, so I did my best to try to remain still, although he wasn't making it easy, either, the rat.

My breast were more than generous, but they didn't even come close to filling his huge hand as he squeezed one much less than gently at the base, teeth poised on my already pebbled nipple, using them harder than he ever had before as I squealed and tried to jerk away from him, getting absolutely nowhere even as he trailed his mouth wetly between the two to treat its twin in the same cruel manner.

Eventually, his teeth left off and he suckled the poor beleaguered peaks into his mouth, squeezing both from their base possessively, soothing the ache he'd created with his hot, wet lips and tongue as he did so.

When I finally recovered myself enough to open my mouth to argue with him, all that came out was a long, low moan, and that grin was back as he pulled his head a bit away from me.

But then I forcibly grabbed a hold of myself and glared back at him bravely - considering my situation - answering him belatedly, "I was merely taking care of _myself_ ," I hissed, "as I always _have_."

How he managed to look hurt, angry, and affronted at the same time I'll never know -

Yes, I did. He was an actor, damn him.

And despite his expression, he'd always loved the dichotomy that was me - highly independent and successful, yet with a deep need - that I'd kept successfully hidden from everyone I'd ever slept with except him - to submit to someone who would treat me the way I craved to be treated - lovingly and delicately sometimes, but harshly and roughly others, without my having to spell out the difference.

He had already long since proven himself to be incredibly easy to talk to - always interested in what I had to say, asking intelligent, probing questions, never judging or being negative or getting hot under the collar, even if he disagreed with something I said.

I knew it was too much to ask for, but Lee had understood me - understood what I _wanted_ , what I _needed_ \- somehow intuitively, once he'd dragged the basics of it out of me one night.

We were in his big bed, having made love the first time - during which I'd managed to insult him unintentionally - which has become a bit of a theme between us - our limbs tangled in the bed sheets as well as each other, when he hauled me up against him and called me on something I'd said to him in the middle of the sensual maelstrom he had built around us that I'd silently been hoping he'd simply forget about.

But I couldn’t be that lucky, of course.

"What could you possibly have meant when you told me that I didn't have to - and I quote - 'try so hard' unquote - and that you didn't _expect_ to cum? Did you think I wouldn't care enough to make sure you got off? That I wasn't good enough to -"

I was so mortified that I wanted to crawl under the bed and disappear. Instead, since he seemed reluctant to let me go despite my considerable efforts, I buried my face in his chest, pleading, "Please stop! Pleasepleaseplease stop!"

He did as I asked, but still held me tightly to him.

"I'm so, so sorry for saying that to you. I didn't mean it to be insulting at all; I truly didn't. I meant it to take some of the pressure off you to . . . to do something that I . . . that I've come not to expect, frankly, from the majority of the men I've slept with."

He looked truly flabbergasted. "What the hell kind of assholes have you been sleeping with?" he asked, leaning on his elbow but not loosening his hold on me in the least.

"Oh dear God," I sighed, feeling my face glowing so brightly I thought it was going to explode. "It wasn't _them_ \- just like it's not _you_ , either - or, well, it wasn't since you . . ." Unbelievably, my skin became even hotter and brighter, I was sure, the longer I spoke and dug myself deeper, "You were able to . . . and I . . . "

"I made you cum."

Christ, what a boring sentence to describe the fact that he nearly killed me - about eight times over - as if he wanted to prove to me that he _could_ , and I was absolutely, utterly powerless to stop him from doing exactly that.

Which, of course, had only made me just that much hotter.

I flung myself as far away from him as he would allow, which wasn't at all, agreeing vehemently, "Fucking bloody hell, yes!", not wanting him to have any doubt about how amazing he'd made me feel.

There was the broad smile I loved - it softened a face that was often entirely too serious for my comfort. "But why wouldn't you think . . . ?"

My mouth clamped shut and I suddenly felt the acute need to busy myself running my fingers over his chest hair, until a long one of his tipped my chin up, forcing me to look him in the eye.

"I just . . . sometimes it's just not right. Just not going to happen. Sometimes - a lot of time - I just want the contact, you know?"

He nodded his head, his arms squeezing me once, gently but firmly, but he remained quiet. It was one of the things I loved the most about him - he didn't always feel the need to talk - he wasn't afraid of silence, and he often held his tongue when most men would have rushed in, blabbering, trying to solve things for me that I was perfectly capable of solving myself.

"And I don't always feel that . . . deeper . . . kind of connection . . . Truth is, I almost _never_ feel that kind of desire . . . "

Still holding me fast, his right hand surprised me by finding its way back between my legs, two fingers opening my folds embarrassingly widely to touch parts of me that were still soft and trembly and hot and sweetly aching in the aftermath of what he'd just done to them, left so ultra sensitive so that I tried to arch my hips away but he wouldn't allow me to, immediately tempering his touch as those fingers slid into me, making me catch my breath and groan again as his big thumb settled delicately onto my clit.

"Like this? You almost never feel this?"

I nodded my head on a tremulous sigh. "I've slept with - " Whoa, wait a minute. Prolly not something you want to put a number to at this exact moment, I thought to myself, " - well, not a lot of guys but enough that I know I don't . . . always - or even often - respond that - this," I confessed, biting my lip, as if he didn't _know_ I was coming undone at his touch, "way to most men."

Lee began to move his thumb back and forth over my clit, dragging it with excruciating slowness and just the right - terribly enticing - pressure . . . 

Perhaps it was my vulnerable position, or his intimate, knowing touch, but I felt compelled to confess on a breathy moan, "I - I've never - I've never cum so hard with - or so many times - with anyone else, especially not the first time we were together," deliberately staring at his Adam's apple rather than into his eyes, when mine weren't trying to roll back into my head at what he was doing to me.

"And just what do I make you feel, babygirl?" That rough, sandpapery tone rasped its way over all of my nerves at once.

Swallowing hard, I answered, "Vulnerable and safe at the same time - your size is . . . very attractive to me, although I've never dated anyone who was quite this much bigger than I am. I like how strong you are - how physically imposing you are, although that's not your personality at all. It makes me want to fight you, to escape you - only to fail, miserably . . . deliciously . . . to have you hold me down and fuck me hard . . . to make me climax when I might not want to . . .. and to be forced to cum that much harder because of it . . . and, at the same time, I want you to curl yourself around me - making me feel utterly safe and treasured - and just hold me . . . "

"Aw, honey," he crooned, pressing his nose to mine. "I know it's early days for us, but I want all of that, too, and more."

Despite those reassurances - and the fact that he brought me off effortlessly - almost too much so - at least another five or so times before sliding into me, taking me with a deliberate slowness that had me shivering in his arms before he brought us both to Paradise at the same time.

That was a lesson - from almost two years back - that he had never hesitated to repeat to me whenever he thought I might need it.

But things were somehow different now.

More different - alarmingly so, as far as I was concerned - than they ever had been between us, and I was at least as hurt and affronted and angry as he was about what was happening between us.

Or rather, much more to the point, what _wasn't_ happening between us now.

What hadn't happened - not even _once_ \- since he arrived last night.

So I went on the offensive, despite the vulnerability of my position. "I'm horny, and you don't seem to have much interest in assisting me with that situation. I've all but thrown myself at you since you got home and all I get is a pat on the head and you rolling over to go to sleep. You didn't even wake me up this morning before you and Carl and PeeWee all went out for your morning hike." My lower lip trembled with the effort I was making not to burst into tears, I whispered brokenly, anyway, "I’m - I'm not going to beg, Lee."

Of course, we both know that that was a lie, but not in this particular situation. I'd begged him to fuck me, or to finally allow me to cum, more times than I could count, but I'd never had to to get him to touch me intimately in the _first_ place . . .

Despite my anger - or more likely because of it - I lost my battle and tears began to spill out of my eyes faster than I was able to dash them away, and I instantly found myself plucked away from the door, held tightly in his arms as he stalked to our bed.

I tried to fight him, to get away from him, but I knew as I was exhausting myself trying to do so that I wasn't going to get so much as an inch from him unless he allowed me to. 

But that sure knowledge didn't prevent me from venting my displeasure - loudly. 

"No! I refuse to get into that bed with you - I don't want pity sex! I won't have it - I won't!!"

In seconds, he had lowered the both of us onto the mattress, wrapping himself around me from behind, dwarfing me as only he could, making me feel alarmingly, deliciously small and completely, terribly, wonderfully _surrounded_ by him. He didn't grab my wrists or try to pin me down at all - he didn't have to. He was simply _there_ , everywhere I moved, his sheer size and weight hemming me in quite naturally.

Not that he didn't put his foot down.

He did, but even that was touchingly, horribly soft and subtle, as a hand wandered up from my waist to cup a breast, squeezing gently, pinching my nipple almost teasingly - just enough to amplified the ache that was already there - then making its way up, slowly but surely, with a hand that was big enough to cup the entirety of my throat, from my collar bone to just beneath my jaw, not squeezing, just . . . there.

It was a very Lee move, subtly reminding me of my submission to him, that I was his - whether or not he decided to avail himself of what was - I was still somewhat bashful to realize even though I was the one who had encouraged him to think this way - _always_ his to have, whether I wanted him to or not, by my own word - to do with _exactly_ as _he_ pleased.

The fact that I _did_ want him to was no more mitigating than the fact that I might _not_ want him to.

I'd finally gotten him around to believing that there was never really going to be a case of the latter, but apparently I had yet to come to grips - myself - with the former.

And now I was back to not wanting him to.

Go figure.

And - considering the size and power of that which was poking against my back, I had no doubt that _he_ wanted to.

Finally.

I did my best to ignore its presence, although there was entirely too much history between us for me to be in the least successful at that.

I was much better at ignoring him, overall, or so I thought.

"First off, I'll take you whenever the fuck I _want_ to, little girl - " he stopped, because I was chanting loudly to drown him out, since he had my arms trapped at my sides and I couldn't stick my fingers into my ears as I wanted to.

"La-la-la-la-la-la-laaaaaaaaa-la- OW! OOh - OW OW OW! STOP!"

One arm reached down and gathered my legs back against me, my knees to my boobs, holding them there with little effort, catching the hand that was likely to pose the most problem by the wrist, while his other hand found my bare, exposed behind - repeatedly, crisply, and with malice aforethought.

Even if my hand had been free, it would have been like a mosquito trying to swat a grizzly bear.

God damn, the man spanked hard!

Took me a while to get him there, too . . . 

What a stupid fuck I am!

I knew from unfortunate experience that nothing I could say or do would stop him, although it didn't go on too long, thankfully.

"Do you need a full session over my lap, young lady?" he asked, gripping and squeezing each inflamed cheek when he was done, his voice calm and steady, as if he was asking what I wanted for breakfast instead of whether I'd like not to be able to sit down comfortably for the next week or so . . .

I wanted to be brave, to tell him to fuck off. That’s what my anger wanted me to do. But my backside was already waving the white - or more accurately, the roasted red - flag.

Punishments from Lee were things to be avoided. The aftercare was amazing, but the spankings - or God forbid, paddlings or whatever - were nothing to be entered into lightly.

Sometimes, it was exactly what I needed, and he knew that.

Sometimes I needed an easier version of it, one that would make my bottom tingle - where the swats he delivered were more tempered, designed to reprimand lightly and titillate outrageously. 

Sometimes, I was just acting out because of anger and unresolved issues, like now, and he understood that, too.

I knew I'd already earned myself something not so good for disobeying a rule. I didn't need to add anything more to it than I'd already received

"No, please," I whined softly, wishing I wasn't such a baby.

I immediately found myself wrapped up in and by him again. The hand that had been holding me captive gently brushed the hair away from my face so that he could rest his lips on my ear, and I couldn't even get away from his mouth because it came back to rest at my throat again, holding me still as he caught my top leg and brought it back over his.

The big broad head of him immediately came to rest at my opening, silently threatening, and I couldn't suppress a whimper at what I knew would follow. Even after two years, I was no closer to being able to take him easily than I was when we first made love. 

And I adored it.

And he knew I did, so he always did his best to draw it out, entering me slowly.

"That's it," he breathed into my ear. "Take me. You're going to take all of me, so you might as well relax."

This encouragement, of course, had the opposite effect, but I was held so tightly that I couldn't even begin to struggle. 

But he knew I was trying to and chuckled softly, and with not a small note of triumph. "Silly girl. This is going to happen. You know it is. And what's more, you want it to. You want to be fucked. You need to be fucked, hard - worn out from the inside, exhausted by pleasure. And you know that that's exactly what I'm going to hold you still and do to you every time."

He advanced slowly but steadily, not quite ever giving my body a chance to acclimate as he squeezed himself into me till I could feel his balls against my behind, and then some, rocking forward sharply several times to assure himself that he was fully lodged within me, making me whimper and mewl even with just those gentle thrusts.

This man knew exactly what he was doing to me.

And as he began to withdraw, his hand found that obscenely stretched part of me, gathering some of the juices that always flowed freely whenever I was around him to lay claim to the tenderest of my lady bits, making me start when three slick fingers were draped over me, not moving yet - not until he began to surge against me, back into me, which has those fingertips naturally agitating me through his powerful movements as well as my own arching and writhing.

"I love how you move when I fuck you like this." His breath sizzled in through clenched teeth as he tried to control both himself and me. "Well, how you try to move, anyway. Everything about you gets me so - "

Suddenly, the highly civilized, relaxed veneer he tried to carefully to maintain was ripped away, and he began plunging violently, not trying to please but rather concentrating on himself, taking what he needed from me the very hard way, battering himself into me. 

And yet, through that barrage, his fingers remained exactly where they were, as if glued there, and the combination of the two had me mindlessly fighting him in earnest, only to hear another evil chuckle in my ear as my throat was again caught and squeezed tightly, possessively.

I snapped, like a dry twig in a hurricane, growling, crying, screaming but held fast through it all, held in place to receive him, relentlessly teased and pleased through that first riotous culmination and right on into the second . . . and third . . .

And he was showing no signs of stopping.

And I couldn't stop myself.

I was at his mercy, only he didn't have any at the moment. 

He was fresh out.

I would be made to take whatever he cared to dish out - and I would be made to love every second of it.

By the time he seized within me with a guttural growl as I clenched at him spasmodically, my body no longer my own having lost even the most rudimentary control over it, I was so wrung out that he could have split me in two and I would never have noticed.

We stayed like that, connected - although barely - for quite some time, locked together in a lovers' rictus, unwilling - and in my case absolutely unable - to move.

Finally, he did it for us, helping me straighten out, rubbing my legs briskly, noticing that I was trembling and pulling the covers up over us as he tucked me against his side, under his arm, my cheek on his broad chest.

"That oughta hold you for a while," he teased, his soft voice booming in the quiet of the room.

I knew he was just trying to be funny, but my frazzled mind didn't take it that way, and I dissolved into tears - while at the same time horrified that I was doing so, which, of course, only made things just that much worse.

He was wonderful when I occasionally crumpled like this - after he'd done something so wonderful for me, too, and I should be all smiles and flying high.

What he did differed, but it was always the right thing.

This time he sat up in bed - when I knew he'd probably much rather be snoring loudly - quickly arranging pillows behind him so that he could lean against back against the headboard without feeling like he was on the rack, and pulled my sobbing self onto his lap, looping those wonderfully strong arms around me, rubbing my back and rocking me.

He said he was sorry, once, but didn't belabor the point. He didn't try to get me to stop crying, either. He simply held me - safe and sound - until I had quieted, just a lump - and a thoroughly unbecoming, disgustingly moist one, at that - against him.

"Better?"

I nodded, still unable to speak.

"Good, then listen to me," that low, soft voice seeped into me, calming me at least as much as those big hands were. "I'm sorry you're feeing neglected. I should have explained to just how hard I was working before I got home to try to get here to as fast as I could, and when I did, I just collapsed. I'm exhausted, but even ninety-nine percent dead, I will always want you. And I didn't wake you this morning before I went on my hike because you were sleeping and I know you don't sleep well while I'm gone." He hugged me tightly. "The spirit is always willing with you - but I should have talked to you about it. I'm sorry I stressed you out and made you feel unwanted, because that will never, ever be the case, my lovely."

He always managed to make me feel like the center of his universe, no matter how badly I had been feeling seconds ago.

After a long while of cuddling and caressing me lovingly, the heartless bastard leaned down to whisper into my ear something guaranteed to make me gasp and try to escape him, unsuccessfully, of course. In fact, as he spoke, he completely ignored what I thought were my vigorous protestations - my writhing and wrestling no challenge at all to his strength - and positioned me the way he preferred I be for what he was going to remind me about - over his lap. 

"You still have a spanking coming, you know - for letting your fingers do the walking when that perfect little territory is mine and mine alone, and you well know it, brat."

"Lee - no!!!" I wailed, but I knew I was wasting my breath - especially once that big hand cracked loudly - and painfully - down onto my behind.


End file.
